Chef!Ghost would fvck you while you hold your stuffed animal that he so carefully set to the side the first time you made love but has gotten in the way of cuddling you at night—
So he fucks you dumb as you squeeze the teddy bear tight, pussy clenching around his length as he ruts into you sideways. Ass smacking against his pelvis, with every rough thrust, pubic hairs all drenched with slick and you’re drooling on your poor bear that’ll be in the washer machine by tomorrow. And maybe he does overstimulate you with the bears nose rubbing against yout clit, your mixed fluids dampening the bears face. Making your hips buck and shudder as you ride its face while Chef!Ghost talks straight filth into your ears. Fucking filthy, so embarrassing and Chef!Ghost is full of sincere apologies as he wipes you down. Your eyebrows knitted together as you playfully ignore him, hiding your face behind a pillow, you flip him the bird. Your poor teddy bear all defiled and will have to go through some sort of christening. And Simon squeeze you tight in his arms, cuteness aggression leaping out of him because you’re the hottest and cutest thing in earth. Leaving another bite mark on your shoulder.
Least he got to hold you for the night. *mic cuts out, credits roll*
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who works as the head chef in a three star restaurant. Is very passionate about his cooking and baking, although he prefers cooking. Let's the confectioner handle the sweets.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who hates costumers or guests, who think they can outsmart him, by complaining about the 'dry steak', however he simply makes them go home. This way, him and his colleagues have less stress.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who gets criticized because of his strict rules in his restaurant by the press. However, he just wants to make sure it's enjoyable and calm. Without any guests trying to get more free food by playing a victim.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who hates the press.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who hates taking the fresh products from the delivery guy, because he's more than talkative. Always makes anyone else go than himself.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who (sometimes) hates his colleagues. Mostly Soap, because he manages to set at least two pans on fire every day and then always ends up staying late to help the cleaning ladies with their job.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who once threw a tomato at Soap for pissing him off, then said; »Be happy that wasn't my knife, you wanker!«
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who sometimes gets carried away and talks more loudly than usual, making some guests question if the work morals are actually okay or not.
»Just follow the damn orders, you carrot!«
»If the costumer said 'no garlic', then it means 'no garlic'! I don't need this place to be shut down because of your stupid ass.«
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who either loves it or hates it when familys with children come in. Asks the waiter or waitress who took their orders about them, being happy if the kid is well behaved.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who loves to cook things off the kid's menu, likes to serve it himself when he knows the child/children are nice and not little gremlins.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who rants to himself whenever something upsets him in the slightest way.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who likes to think that you are his favourite coworker. Knows about your excellent degree, enjoys your food and new recipes and loves the fact that you're always on time. Others can't compare.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who likes to gossip with you on breaks over a cigeratte or a cup of tea.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who always makes sure that Velvet's desserts are perfect. It's his most loyal costumer, and the sweetest elder lady on earth.
»Of course, we'll make the most sweetest cheesecake as possible.«
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who wants to put his hands into the mixer after he heard Velvet compliment you, then following up with, »I'm surprised chef Riley hasn't fallen for you already. I'd be distracted in the kitchen if I had to work with you.«
Because she is somehow managed to hit a nerve.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who tries to make you do other work, like organising the storage room and collecting the deliveries, or even cleaning out the containers outside. Just to be more focused on his work... but you're starting to hate it.
Chef!Simon 'Ghost' Riley who makes Soap shut up with another tomato once he tries to tease Ghost about his 'crush'. Then contemplated with the thoughts of shutting the place down because of his antics.
⟨part 2⟩
a/n: got this idea while reawatching a random series from my childhood, so here you go. hope you enjoyed! (divider @vesearartistry) I'd happily take more requests for this AU, just drop it into my inbox!!
Also, he reminds me of Gordon Ramsay.
okay no he CAN. okay? but it's very much- chop up whatever the fuck is in the fridge throw it in a pot, add as much meat he can find. then he's sorted. creating some sort of stew. but if not that. he thrives off 2 minute noodles.
listen, he's a working man. he can't be fucked thinking about what to make.
and if he needs to eat while not deployed and wants something, he'll get takeaways so he doesn't have to think about it.
and if ya'll are together - whatever you make... motherfucker eats that shit up like he's in a 5-star fucking reasturant.
you made scrambled eggs with bacon??? he's astounded. absolutely in love. has never been more satisfied in his life.
but oh lord. when he retires..
retired!simon fucking riley finds his fucking calling in cooking.
you no longer have to worry about cooking. nah-uh. not with this man who has all the time in the world to hone in on this new culinary world.
idk i just think it's so cute to think about simon going from beans on toast for breakfast to fluffy buttermilk pancakes or french toast with bacon a berry compote.
then for dinner; it's suddenly a whole line of sushi with all your favourites, dumplings to follow and a beef udon recipe dish. or maybe it's a simple roast - however, a perfectly seasoned meat has been sitting for a while in the oven for so long that when you cut into it, it's juicy and tender. and simon fucking beams at the faces you make.
dessert is a whole other game that simon fucking mastered. seriously. because he's placing down a skillet brownie, topped with ice cream and cream. And when you put a spoon into it, it fucking drips with chocolate ya'll.
just rahhhh retired!simon that turns into chef!simon. who just spoils you day and night with food. who gains the ability to make whatever dish you want, whenever you want. 3am and you want a grilled cheese? he can whip it up in seconds and it'll taste like the most gourmet grilled cheese you have EVER had.
btw, i'm torn between making him a gordon ramsay in the kitchen or him being the complete opposite and being so sweet and patient with you when you want to help him.
WAIT- speaks like gordon ramsay but treats you softly. like, you're not cutting with the knife correctly you fucking donkey. but instead of taking it off you, he presses up behind you, gently cups your hands with his and shows you how to do it safely. and he's speaking so sweetly and softly. a stark contrast to when he called you a fucking donkey - but hey you'll get your bite back. ;)
a/n: i can't fucking breathe this was so funny to write. i'm sorry idk why he called u a donkey. i'm fucking hungry if it wasn't obvious with this post.
Waiter!Reader who chokes on your food mid bite. You and Chef!Ghost have been doing this exchange of food for about two months now. Ghost loves you cakes more than anything on this planet, it would probably be the last thing he wants to eat before he dies. He thinks you’re ridiculously talented and you’ve never failed to amaze him with your baking.
He trusts your tongue more than anything too.
Loves the how you compliment his food, the grin and little dance you do when he brings you a bowl or plate of food. Your honesty, even if you don’t know the right words to describe what’s wrong. Your laugh when he says something silly or when you rub your arms nervously when he inters your space— he simply can’t get enough of it— can’t get enough of you.. It was only a matter of time before he ordered something from you, at least, that’s what he thinks.
“You alright?” He asks, hand going to your back and bringing a glass of water to your lips. You swallow, clearing your throat you nod, “I’m fine.” A lie. He’s making your heart race ten fold. You’ve tried to get used to his touch, really. The hand grazes, the hand on yoru back, caressing your cheeks, feeding you— even eating what you don’t finish. Maybe he’s overly friendly with everyone.
That’s what you like to tell yourself.
“You can make any 2 flavors you like, but the 3rd, has to be the peach cobbler one, I’d die for it.” He continues on as if he didn’t just ask a huge ask of you.
“Chef?”
“Simon,” he corrects, taking the plate from you and few last bites.
“Simon,” you breath, “I’m really happy you like my desserts. Truly. But I’m not finished with culinary school.”
Ghost shrugs, “I know.”
“And I’m not very good at icing my cakes.”
“Do you see a perfect dish being sent out around here?”
“And I’ve never had such a large order in my life!” You ramble on.
Your family are your main clients, They always ask you to bake something for the family function, and maybe you have brought over some brownies or cookies for your friends. Nothing this serious.
“What if I mess up and you hate them? Or they come out wrong or worse—“
“—Baby.” He cuts you off, taking your hands in his, gently sliding his thumbs against your knuckles and then kissing them.
“You want to be a proper baker, right? One that everyone loves, you told me that right?”
You slowly nod, biting the inside of your lip. “Every chef just needs one chance. One. I believe in you lovie, more than anythin. I wouldn’t want you baking for me if I didn’t like it. I want to give you that chance. I’ll pay you for the cupcakes, and let a few of the customers try them on the house. You can see for yourself if they like them. And if they do, I’d like to sell ‘em if you’d do me the honor. I’ll pay you for them. My co-owners been houndin me for years to get a proper dessert, if anythin you’re doin me a huge favor. And if you don’t like the pressure of the order or anythin you can tell me clean to fuck off, I won’t hate you.”
And there’s such sincerity in his voice, trust in his eyes. That he truly believes in you, and in what you want. And trust me dear reader, the man would give you anything if you asked for it.
Even if you didn’t want to bake anymore, he’d still fall to pieces for you. It’s something just to try, taking a proper step forward in your life to your end goal. You want the stars? Reach for them.
You shy away, lips pursed, as you lean against the wall in your seat, “I should probably make a few, just to try first right?”
Simon’s heart practically sings out his chest, more than happy for you, and maybe you even see a ghost of a smile on his lips. He squeezes you hand,
“You’ll do amazing lovie trust me.”
a/n: well waiter!reader, nows your chance. What’re you gonna do?
cw: mdni, it’s just fluff lol, chef!ghost, waiter!reader, it’s a little long.
Waiter!reader who’s overworking themselves.
And it’s not like you meant to, just- you needed this to be perfect. You needed this opportunity that Chef!Ghost gave you, to work out. So the past two weeks you’ve done nothing but focus on that.
You go to culinary school, a bus to the restaurant, work till about ten, get home by 11 and pour your heart into perfecting your 3 recipes till about 5 am. And do it all over again the next day. And the next and the next. It feels like your constantly burning daylight. There are little to no breaks, no room for mistakes, just perfection.
But when you strive for perfection, there comes irritation, anger, disappointment— you’re tired. But you want this—no— this has to work out for you.
You’ve already gone down a route your parents weren’t so proud of, you’ve made your own way by yourself, and then you lost your last job, you got lucky snagging this one. And then with how close you’ve gotten with Simon, the other waiters are questioning you, “Just because you fucked the boss doesn’t mean you can be late,” one snorts. And you have to remind yourself, that this is okay. It’s just for the time being. That you can prove them all wrong. You can prove Simon right, that you are good and it’s good enough to be on his menu.
And maybe this ache in you would make you a good chef, break you down enough just like the other professors wants— enough that makes your soul break juuuust enough for you to be impeccable. That’s the way to show your love of you job, right? That’s the way you want this, right?
So there’s no time to stop. There’s a red bull or a coffee in between the day— you don’t remember—, your professors are complimenting you— maybe you missed the bus to work and almost cried when the second one showed up late. Ran into your shift and threw on an apron, fake smiles and working your way through customers and not dropping that large tray with their food on it, sleeping on the bus on the way home just to get your cupcakes down.
And then there’s Chef!Ghost who hasn’t been able to see you. Not even to check up on you, and at first he let it go, you’re nervous, you don’t want to disappoint. But he doesn’t see you at family meal, your running right out the door as soon as the restaurant closes, and when he does see you, in those small glimpses between the dishes of food, the other waiters and line cooks, you’re just barley holding up, bags under your eyes, jittery, eyes flicking from the linecook to the ticket to the plate, not even talking unless you have to.
You’re on autopilot.
He wants to stop you, tell you that’s it’s all okay. And he shouldn’t have pushed you like this. You can try again later, when you’re mentally ready for it. It makes his heart ache from not even hearing your voice in the kitchen, or smiling at him, whispering in his ear during service how you’d like steak for dinner instead of the special. And he gets to be the one to whip it up for you.
Fucking hell, he misses you.
Before he gets the chance, you’ve come to his office. You’ve got a white chefs coat on, one you must wear in school that has your last name embroidered into it in black, your hair tied up with a cute brown claw clip, your hands behind your back, glasses pushed all the way up your nose and biting the inside of your lip.
Simon could eat you— but he chooses not to. Not this time.
“Could you come with me Chef?” As if you’d have to ask, Simon’s already on his feet towering over you. He rolls up his sleeves, as he follows you from the back to the prep area.
“How are you? I haven’t talked to you in a while.”
You hesitate, and he looks down at your hands— , they’re trembling, “Good. I-I’m good.” You’ve managed to convince yourself.
He wants to take your hand in his like he’s done before, tell you it’s okay. But you’ve pushed yourself deep into a corner, he knows it. The only thing that will lure you out is if he gives you reaction you want or he pulls you by the nape like a kitten— in other words— the truth.
You stop at the metal table, three well decorated cupcakes a top of them, along with the peach cobbler one he asked for, a cinnamon sugar compote dripping atop the perfectly whipped frosting. The middle a classic vanilla with a large star piping, and finally a red velvet, a bit of crumbles bits on top with hand made chocolate hearts.
Simon pauses for a moment, looks from you to the cupcakes, “They’re…”
“Perfect. I know, my professors say I’m the top of my class if I keep going the way I am.”
And it doesn’t make him crack a smile like you thought it would, his lips are in a thin line, he’s uncomfortable. He can’t go over there and yell at them for you. And part of him gets it, culinary school is to make a chef that can work around anything, learn how to make anything, but they’re pushing it too far. His jaw clenches and you notice, shifting on your feet.
He sighs, trying to ignore the irritation, pulling out another random fork from his apron, “Let’s try it, yeah?”
It’s the peach cobbler first, he cuts into it, and feeds you first. Then himself. It’s splendid to say the least, not overly sweet but the peach compote bangs it out the water. Something they’d serve in heaven. Simon uncontrollably groans in satisfaction, “You’re amazin dovie. It’s fuckin lovely.”
A little part of the stress you’ve been holding melts away, hear rising from under you cheeks, playing with your fingers. “You think?”
“I know.” He nods, large calloused hand finding the bavk of your neck, rubbing your nape in comfort. You could feel yourself radiating.
The red velvet is a breeze, Simon isn’t the biggest fan of red velvet but he likes it. It’d be a flavor to switch out on the menu, and you can put another if you’d like. The last one should be easy right, it’s fucking vanilla for gods sake, there should be no issue.
But he bits into it first. Quickly chewing and swallowing, and then he snorts. A grin forming on his lightly scared face.
The fuck is funny at a time like this?
“I-is something wrong Chef?” You stutter out, heart beating faster, big brown eyes searching his. It’s not good for his heart the way you look at him. God, you’re so adorable, so damn pretty.
He hums in amusement, pushing the fork into the cupcake so it leans on its side. And then you see it. A horror show.
The little black specs of burnt cupcake at the bottom.
“I- oh. Uh.“
You’re at a complete loss of words, how could this happen? You’d made vanilla cupcakes before, you could make them with your eyes closed, but you fucked it up this one time? When it actually matters?
Your eyes glaze over with tears, you let out a shaky breath, “I’m sorry. I— this isn’t- I don’t usually burn anything. I didn’t mean—“ maybe it’s been waiting to come out this whole time, and maybe Chef’s Ghosts laughter didn’t ease your tension like he thought it would, but the lump in your throat bursts like a dam.
Simon curses underneath his breath, pulling your further into the prep station so no one sees. “It’s nothin wrong with it swee’art, just a little mistake, it’s still good.” He cups yoru face in his hands, thumbing your falling tears away.
“But it wasn’t perfect! It’s the one thing I shouldn’t’ve fucked up and I did! The one time I- I was supposed to make you proud and I can’t do that right!” You babble on and his heart swells.
Shit, you adorable thing, loveable girl.
“And you have done [+]. Look here baby,” and he lifts your chin up to look at him, taking his hands in yours.
“Told you, I’m no perfectionist. Don’t know where that idea came from. Shit? The one thing I’d critique your cupcakes on is how perfect they are. I like things a little- messy, yeah? Life is messy, and it shows in my work. It shows how authentic my food is, that it’s from the heart. And I know you ran laps in that brain ‘f yours about this but that burnt cupcakes, exactly the kind’ve work ‘m lookin for.”
You pout, biting the inside of your lips. You wants to refute it, but he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.
He lightly chuckles, “Can’t exactly serve something burnt but it’s a mistake. Mistakes can easily be fixed, come out with somethin even better. And I know that’s in you.”
His thumbs rub over your knuckles soothing you. Your heart finally calming down.
“So, does that mean you don’t want them?” Your hesitate. Eyes peeking at him, you still want the job, more than ever do you want to show off to your family for once.
Simon sighs, he couldn’t say no to you, not even if the cupcakes were actually shit. “Course I want them, the jobs always been yours, just— you have to take it easy baby. No stressing yourself out on me, okay? I’m right here for you.”
You throw yourself into his arms, squeezing him tight, overjoyed that Chef— Simon still trusted you with this and relief can finally wash over you. A ramble of ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’ falls from your lips and you feel the vibration of the amused grunt. Your heart leaping out of your ass. But you don’t let go, just another moment. And Simon, doesn’t let you go either.
“I’m sorry.” You sniffled. Wiping your nose with your sleeve.
“What for? Havent done anythin wrong.”
“I just- I forgot.” Your murmured.
Forgot that he’s right there, and he’s always been right there and waiting to hear you out. Looking out for you, taking care of you.
It’s things he doesn’t mind doing, only for you. Just to see that perfect smile, know that your heart is content and safe. Even for just a moment.
He’ll Listen to you when you have something in your mind. And you’ve done the same for him. Heard him out about the troubles he has. There’s an unknown line you two hop back and forth between, personal and impersonal, proof that close just isn’t close enough. The past three or so months have been a whirlwind of emotions but Chef Ghost— Simon, Simon is constant.
Simon is caring, kind, and understanding and willing.
The exact type of person you’d craved to be with your whole life.
And it’s everything properly falling into place, his eyes lost in yours, some type of magnet pulling you into his space against the counter— his lips meeting yours for the first time. It’s sickeningly sweet, the taste of buttercream and cake on his lips, one that still has your breath hitching, heart pounding.
But Simons gentle, “easy birdie,” he mumbles against your full lips. He lets go of his hand find your waist, tucking you closer to him.
There’s no need to rush, this is the perfect recipe. Slow, steady, soft, mixing two things together takes time. He pulls away after who knows how long, steadying you by your hip. Pecking your lips for good measure once more.
He give you a small smirk, “Let’s get to work then.”
a/n: I know this took a while, sorry. Also I don’t like peaches, and I hate warm fruit. Inspo obviously broken clocks by SZA. This was kinda shite but whatever.
Waiter!Reader who always gets called to the kitchen mid shift to try food hand made by Chef!Ghost.
Hes made a little extra portion of something, braised steak over mashed potatoes this time.
“Come on kid, try a bit f’me.” You think you get weak in the knees off that alone, but the steak is perfectly tender and seasoned, potatoes just right and creamy, you groan at how good it is, stomping your feet at how perfect it is. And Ghosts eyes are so soft at the sight of you enjoying his food. Something he’s still working the kinks out for the autumn menu.
He brushes a stray curl away, then wipes the left over mashed potato that was there, sucking it from his tongue, “It’s good?” He asks as if he didn’t just make your underwear wet— shut up—
“Wonderful!”
“But?” And he waits for it, he’s always looking for answers out of you. The only person he wants answers out of.
“More oomf.” But you say it more like a question. you’re no chef, you don’t know what it’s missing exactly. But Simon is attentive, he understands you so way, some how, takes bite, from the same spoon, himself. Then nods, patting your lower back, “More oomf, thanks birdie.”
You have to take five in the walk in before you get back to your section.
Chef!Ghost is head chef at his own restaurant, tasting and preparing dishes, telling off workers when needed, ordering supplies— Ghost does it all.
Chef!Ghost who only does in person interviews, no cameras either, right in his kitchen, during service. He doesn’t care for the hype or getting 3 million likes on social media, he wants people to come in, enjoy the atmosphere, the rock music playing during the day, Jazz at night— and then the warm and filling food that will make anybody melt as soon as it touches their tongues. Simon Riley’s, “secret ingredient” that everyone raves over.
“And what exactly could that be?” The interviewer asks, anticipatingly.
And he hums, an ends of his eyes crinkling a deep but light chuckle coming from his lips as he sautés a pan of vegetables, “A bit ‘f fuckin love, innit?”
Incomes waiter!reader who isn’t really supposed to be in the kitchen per say— you so badly want to be a pastry chef. But culinary school needs to be paid off, so you’re working at Ghost Restaurant (lol stupid name, walk with me). But at the restaurant theres no real deserts, just some cookies and a bit of ice cream, “Cause we have to,” one of his sous chef’s, Donny, laughs.
Waiter!reader who, after bribing Donny, got to bring a nicely made chiffon cake to go along with family meal. And the icing, blue is a bit messy. It’s not perfectly done and it’s pretty obvious, but theres some open star piping on it, a few white and yellow cute flowers too. Everyone’s raving about it, from the waiters to dishwashers to the line cooks— and then a nice slice is saved off for Ghost.
“You.” He points to one mid shift, two days later, simply says, motioning you away from the ticket station and to the back of the restaurant.
You’re more than nervous, clearly you must’ve pissed him off, desserts aren’t needed at the restaurant, and to turn family meal into a cake tasting. To Top it off you definitely dropped a couple plates this month. You’re smoked.
“You can make a marble cake, yeah?” Is what he first asks when the back door closes.
You take a glance around the mess of the office, gulp down whatever fear is in you, “I-I can try.”
“Good. Bring me a slice your next shift.”
And it’s as simple as that, he goes back in the building, after plucking your forehead, leaving you rubbing your skin and confused.
did you bring the cake? Of course you did. You want to keep your job. You bring the cake two days later, in an old Tupperware container, a light glaze atop the the dessert, heart pounding out of your chest. And he takes a fork (he has those stashed on him) and takes a bit of your cake. He grunts in satisfaction, then hands you a hot plate of food.
“Eat.”
Was this some sort of trade off? Who knows, but if it meant you could eat on the clock, maybe it was for the best.
“It’d be good for business for fucks sake! More business means more money!”
“ ‘Nd tha’ means we should start jumpin off bridges and shit for a fucking camera for “more business”? Piss off!”
It’s the forth time this month during family meal, Tommy, Chef!Ghost’s brother and business partner, have had a yelling match right before service. Concerning a very notable Magazine asking for in person, video recorded interview about the business, his kitchen and Ghosts life. Simon doesn’t do video recording, he wants the food to do the talking, even at work he’s still wearing a mask, only taking off his mask to taste the food. The most costumers have heard him is yelling out orders and instructions. He likes the privacy, he didn’t become a chef to be an ‘Internet personality.’
Tommy, has good intentions, he’s a good person, handles most the finances and answers emails and calls but helped the business get off the ground from a food truck to brick. The restaurant isn’t running out of money, far from it, if they really wanted to own another building they could. But Simon doesn’t want to, he likes the one, likes his regulars that come for lunch and those who come for dinner. Likes knowing all the waiters and sous chef’s, sourcing all his ingredients himself. He loves his job the way it is. But Tommy has to pull teeth for a simple interview that goes in the paper, this— he’s asking for pigs to fly.
And Simon won’t even bother to put some fake wings on a pig and kick it off the building with a rope.
“I- shit, [+]! You agree it’s a good idea, right? This would put the restaurant on the next level!”
You’re barely playing mediator eating and watching them go hit for hit, said you’d give them five minutes the second argument so no one punches the other (which won’t happen, they’re exaggerating). It’s now the fourth time, and your name is being mentions.
You do a double take mid bite of the steak you’re eating when you realize both sets of eyes are on you, “oh you’re serious.”
“Course I am! He’ll only listen to you!” Harvy sighs.
You open your mouth to deny it, but you know it’s true. You and Simon- Simon and you- there are no confirmed titles yet. But you and Simon are more than friends after everything that’s happened- deeply connected crushes? Each others situation ?
You’re not taking any questions at this time.
You wipe your hands on your apron, glancing at Simon who’s giving the most adorable pout for you to side with him. “Hey! Don’t look at him!” Harvy snaps his fingers and you can’t help but giggle.
“Well it is a good idea,” you start.
“See Ghost?” Harvy smirks.
“But if Simon doesn’t want to do it then you shouldn’t.” You shrug.
“Yeah, dumb ass.” Simons nudges his brothers forehead back playfully, ready to turn on his feet to end the discussion.
You suck in a breath, “But maybe just this one time just to see if it does anything! I mean you didn’t have to show your face, just your torso maybe, a-and maybe a sous chef could be there for support- even bring Johnny in maybe and he can be the focus!” You ramble as fast as you can.
“Lovie.” Simons thick eyebrows knit together, betrayal written on his face.
You cant even get an apology out before Tommy is gleefully clapping his hands together, pulling you into a tight hug that Simon has to yank his brother out of.
“Off, you fuckin brat.” Simon grips his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, shit just- thank you [+]!” He exclaims, smiling from ear to ear, “Itll be perfect! I’ll let the reporter know that Simon will do it, and you’ll be the sous helping-“
Your eyes widen, “—Wait a second- I didn’t say-“
“—Thanks for taking one for the team [+]! I gotta go, it’s about to be booming in here!”
You try calling out to Tommy but he’s long gone out the back door of the kitchen.
You peek over at Simon, who has that stupidly handsome smug look on his scarred face, “Fell right into his trap baby.”
You groan, “I didn’t know he’d rope me in like that! I said Johnny, not me!”
“Probably because you knows how well we work together.” Simon nods, arms folded over his broad chest.
You’ve worked the kitchen a few times after becoming Simons official non official pastrier. You’re good, learning, have even gotten a small half baked talking too from Simom that he couldn’t follow through after looking at those big brown eyes he adores so much— but phenomenal nonetheless.
You scuff, “it was barely anything.“
“Enough for Tommy to trust you though, yeah?” Simon holds his hand out for you to take, and you do, coming just a little bit closer into his space. Enough to feel his chest rising a falling. Simon hesitates, just for a moment, deciding to rest his other hand on your waist, that makes chills roll uo your spine.
“If y’really don’t want to love, I can get someone else. Not a big deal.”
You shake your head, letting out a deep breath, eyes finding his, “I can do it, long as you’re by my side, Itll work out. Just as it’s always has.”
And god, does Simons heart swell at that, the passion he sees in your eyes that make him want to work harder, ignites the want to be better for you, for himself. Maybe you realize the small comfortable silence that grew after you said that, eyes darting away and letting out an awkward laugh.
He’s holding you hand and your waist [+], DONT FREAK OUT! BE NORMAL.
You’re both a little shy, small touches getting Simon red and you smiling like an idiot, heart pounding out your ass, little talks that lead to gentle kisses and giggles. It’s puppy love, how silly. how romantic. But Simon dares to be normal, brushing the back of his finger to your neck, down to your collar bone, “Think you’d look cute with a white coat with ‘Riley’ on it dove.”
You almost choke, mouth going dry and stupidly heart stuck. Simon lets you go, arms uo in surrender before pecking your lips once, glint in his blue eyes, “Got some shit t’ do now, I’ll see you later.”
And he takes his notebook that lies on the counter, walking back to where they’re having family meal while you’re stuck in the kitchen, breathless and wondering how you’ll get through today’s shift.
a/n: Chef!Ghost anyone? I had pictures for this but I’ll leave it for the next one (if I post it)
